Oudezijd
This part of Amsterdam is where it all began back in the 13th century (or thereabouts).
The route of the medieval ramparts define its boundaries to the East (Geldersekade
/ Klovernierburgwal) and the Amstel to the West.

Most of the old defences are long gone, dismantled when the city expanded beyond
their bounds in the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries. One of the few visible reminders
today is De Waag, once one of the city's main gates. You can see a photo of it above.
After a long period of indecision about what to use it for, it's now a posh-ish
bar / restaurant.

Today, the Red Light District occupies much of the area. In Dutch it's usually referred
to as "De Wallen", derived from the names of its principal canals (Oudezijds
Voorburgwal, Oudezijds Achterburgwal). Most of the action happens along the canals
and in the alleys connecting them, roughly between Damstraat and Zeedijk

The council has been trying hard, but with only partial success, to revive
Zeedijk. The short section that runs East - West at the station end is now
perfectly respectable. It's easy for unwary tourists to be lured further
along the street, where the efforts at renewal have met with stiff resistance
from heroin dealers and their customers. On the nice bit of Zeedijk stands
one of very few wooden houses to survive the devastating fire of 1452.

You have to hand it to Heineken the way so many of Amsterdam's most
stylish and atmospheric bars sell Brand beer. I don't know if this is some sort of
marketing policy, or if the café owners with the taste to have a well-decorated
pub also have the nous to get Brand instead of standard Heineken.

This is one of those classy bars, which have such lived-in interiors that you can
be fooled into thinking they're very much older than they are. I have a feeling that,
although the building itself is a couple of centuries old, the pub hasn't been there
for anything like as long. Most of it looks 17th century - battered, painted wooden
furniture, that your grand parents might have thrown out for looking too old and tatty;
cracked and faded tiles; creaking, uneven floorboards - yes, it's more like being
in part of an open-air museum than in a public bar.

That is, except for one corner, which has the sort of crap varnished wood-panelling,
that fits in well with a decade of giant collars and flared trouser, i.e. the early
1970's, that nadir of human visual culture. The ceiling is supported by genuine enough
looking beams and the green-painted shelves would appear more at home in an apothecary.

The beer selection is very limited, but, if you're going to drink Dutch lager, Brand
is about the best you can do. Brand Imperator is supposed to be a German-style bock,
but this description doesn't quite fit and, in many ways, seems more like a bottom-fermented
beer brewed to have ale characteristics. But what the hell, it tastes pretty good,
so I wouldn't waste too much time analysing exactly what style it's in.

All in all, a pretty groovy place and if you sit facing the right direction you can
travel down nostalgia street however far you want it to take you. Me? I want to go
all the way.

For a long while the Zeedijk was not the sort of area you would recommend
anyone to go wandering about in, especially at night. Now, at least the Central Station
end has been renovated, cleaned up and made not only a safe but also an attractive
part of the city. Het Elfde Gebod is a good example of the type of friendly pub which
have sprung up in this area.

A single room, the front section is mostly taken up by the bar and has few tables.
To the rear are rather more tables, but this area seems to operate more as a restaurant.
Without doubt the most decorative feature is the giant china cabinet behind the bar,
where the bottled beers are displayed. Nice to look at and also a much more visually
impressive way of showing what's on sale than a dull list. Though, given the level
of lighting it's probably better if you don't have to read anything, unless you've
brought your own torch with you. A bit gloomy, though I suppose the yellow lightbulbs
do give it a little of the cosy feeling of candlelight. Maybe it will work better
in the Winter, when it's freezing outside.

The staff seem pretty good and they were very professional about changing
a bad beer, which is always a very good sign. Nothing is worse than being
served something only fit for sprinkling on your chips and having to convince
the cretin behind the bar that something isn't quite right.

Someone here must be a big Marilyn Monroe fan because there are photos
of her all over the place. Given the location in the Red Light District, perhaps this
could be taken ironically. Physically, the layout is a bit odd; there is a series
of beams just over head height forming a sort of false ceiling. They look original,
so perhaps they form an integral part of the structure and cannot be removed. Otherwise
it's a fairly standard old Amsterdam pub and has the brown look we all know and love.

I must check this pub again, now Maximiliaan (the supplier of the only interesting
beer) has gone.

A slightly bizarre choice of beer in this place. Obviously the La Trappe
rep did a good around this end of the Zeedijk, as half the pubs seem to have it on.
Another minute one-room place, it hasn't been around all that long. It has a simple,
cosy wooden interior, that gives it a 'light-brown café' feel. It has a huge
collection of old advertising posters, which are liberally splattered around its walls
and a piano which seems to serve more as a magazine rack than as a musical instrument.

Not particularly outstanding in any way, but a nice enough place to make it worth
including on a pub crawl along the Zeedijk.

An ancient jenever house, dating from 1619, Olofspoort is
just a few steps away from Zeedijk and Centraal Station. The site was origianlly
occupied by the Sint Olofspoort, built in 1341, one of the gates
in the city wall. Despite being made redundant in 1425 by one of Amsterdam's
many expansions, almost another two centuries passed before its eventual
demolition in 1618.

One of the few Amsterdam pubs to retain a "slijterij vergunning"
or off-sales licence, you can buy whole bottles of jenever to either take
home or enjoy on the premises. It stocks more than 200 drinks, including
60 Dutch and Belgian jenevers.

"De flessenclub" ("bottle club") allows individuals
or organisations to leave their own personal bottle safely locked away behind
the bar. They don't seem short of members, judging by the stuffed, glass-fronted
cabinets. Jenever tastings can be arranged for groups of at least 12 participants.
And for 250-300 you can even get married here. (I wonder if they throw
in free drinks for the happy couple?)

The beer choice is limited, but meets my minimum "1 drinkable"
criterion with the more than reasonable Affligem. I wouldn't have been so
strict, in any case. Not with all those lovely jenevers.

If youīve never tried a proper jenever, you have a real treat awaiting you.
But here are a few tips for the fullest enjoyment. Don't think of
it as gin. A real old jenever is aged, like whisky, in small oak barrels.
Just like whisky, this is where it picks up its colour, from pale gold to
deep amber. (The industrial paintstripper variety is distilled, coloured
and on the off-licence shelf within a hour or two.) The good stuff is sold
by age: starting at one or two years for the lightest and most easy-drinking,
progressing through the deeper, more complex 5 and 8 year olds and climaxing
with ones of 12 or even 17 years (almost old enough to drink themselves)
packed with rich, sherry notes. As you may have noticed, I do have quite
a liking for it. But getting back to my essential advice, start with a two
year old and work your way up in the ages. But make sure that it is jenever
that has been genuinely aged. "Oud" (Dutch for "old") doesnīt necessarily
mean old in the weird world of industrial jenever distilling.

Olofspoort has some wonderful jenevers at prices that look laughable compared
to those for whisky of a similar (or even far inferior) quality: Rutte
12 year old is a paltry 4.60. A bargain for such a mature and deeply
layered drink. It made the Villiers 8 year old (one of Belgiumīs finest)
which had preceded it over my tongue, appear shallow and one-dimensional.
And I love Villiers 8.

Having shared all of this with you, I now have a favour to ask. If you visit
Olofspoort, please donīt make me regret having recommended it. Itīs a special
place and I want it to stay that way. So treat it, the staff and the regulars
with a bit of respect. Thatīs not too much to ask, is it?

I've come across many weird and wonderful pubs in my travels.
But the combination of budget hostel and beer bar is a new one on me. It
seems so unlikely, that I was inclined to distrust the sign outside Old
Nickel claiming 60 different beers. But as it's literally next door to In
de Olofspoort, it seemed worth taking a closer look.

At first glance, my fears about a cheap hotel lobby were realised. A carpet
much too thick and much too red, a cheap bar counter; it wasnīt looking
too good. Did they really have 60 beers? The barman wasnīt too inviting,
but did pass us the beer menu. A quick count proved the claim to be true.
But there was an even greater shock beneath its laminated exterior: the
choice was actually quite interesting. More beers I wanted to drink than
many bars with a list four times as long. Mahrs
Bräu Ungespundet, Schlenkerla Rauchbier.
No-one ever sells decent German beers in Amsterdam, Wildeman excepted. What
were they doing here? Just as I had been getting ready to launch into my
favourite speech complaining that Dutch beer bars rarely sell anything not
Belgian. Here the Belgians barely made up half the list. How curious. Local
beers are also well-represented: the whole range from both 't
Ij and La Trappe, plus a selection
of Prael beers.

When I took the trouble to examine my surroundings a little more closely,
they were far more intrguing than I had initially assumed. Distracted by
the tacky modern additions, I hadnīt noticed the beautiful room they partially
covered. Now in the UK, standard practice with a lovely old interior, was
to rip it out, throw it in a skip and ship in as much formica and plywood
as physically possible. In Old Nickel they hadnīt bothered with steps one
and two. Why anyone would want to hide such decorative carved panelling
is a mystery. Maybe they though it looked too classy for a hostel reception.
But at least itīs still there. Along with a monumental tiled fireplace.

I won't pretend that Old Nickel isn't an odd place. And not always in a
particularly appealing way. But it somehow charmed me. I've no real idea
why. Call me perverse, but I like it almost as much as Olofspoort. The juxtaposition
of so many seemingly incompatible elements make it truly original and full
of genuine surprises. You may well hate it and I can understand why. Just
don't blame me if you do.

There have been some fairly radical changes at Mono since I wrote my
original review of it a few years back. Pretty obviously the name, as you may have
noticed a bit higher up, just above the address. I guess that the 60's music theme
was the second item in the skip.

The "smallest pub" competition is fiercely contested in Amsterdam. So much
so, that even this tiny bar is playing in the Third Division South. I'm a bit of a
loss what to tell you, now I can't ramble on about Paul Revere and the Raiders or
the Standells (both excellent examples of mid 1960's American Garage Punk). From what
I saw today, the new theme is bland. Not that I could bear to investigate that closely,
now that we've swapped our summer weather for Antigua's.

The sweat dripping from my brow was already making a right mess of the football reports,
even before the first drop of Wieckse Witte had touched my lips. When I drink beer
this disgusting, a couple of questions always cross my mind: is it meant to taste
like this? was it like this when it left the brewery? does it always threaten to separate
you from your lunch? I wonder where the brewer lives? You're sitting fully-dressed
in a sauna with the throttle set to Hiroshima and find a cold beer in your hand.
You sip greedily from the glass and . . . . it tastes so revolting, that you nearly
retch. A bowl of washing up water with a couple of pounds of diet margarine dissolved
in it would be tastier.

Sometimes I resent my commitment to relate all the relevant facts in my possession.
I'll feel strangely guilty, perhaps for the rest of my life, if I neglect tell you
about the numerous tables, serviced (with drinks) from this bar, over the road on
the canalside. There. Now I'll be able to sleep tonight. This next bit could well
be important for your safety: Centercourt is somewhere near the ragged edge of the
Red Light District. It's immediate vicinity is safe, in the central Amsterdam sense
of the word, which is something quite different from the feeling of security experienced
by the brothers at Westvleteren (one of my emergency retirement plans involves the
abbey). The Red Light District can be a dangerous place for the unwary to wander about
in, particularly at certain times of day. After pub closing time, don't stray off
on your own. One part of the Zeedijk steadfastly refuses to be cleaned up. It pays
to keep your wits about you here at any time of day. Certain restaurants offer excellent
views of smack dealers going about their business.

Sometime between dropping a handful of sweaty coins into the barmaid's hand and the
bile beginning to jump around in my gut, it crossed my mind that I wasn't sure that
I could recommend the oven, where my bum was unwisely parked, to anyone, if I was
taking my beer drinking theme (the only one that I have thought of so far and one
that I was planning on sticking with, unless another suddenly pops into my head) seriously.
Call me Mr. Run-Home-and-Hide-Behind-Mum, but I'll be staying loyal to Mono,
sorry, Centercourt (which is a crap name, isn't it? ISN'T IT, anyone who thinks that
this name has a single word that can be said in its defence, should walk over to a
mirror and ask themselves some serious questions about their judgement) even if I
haven't the vaguest idea why.

This is the plain text version: the beers have been thinned to the point where my
choice of drink has pretty much been made when I walk through the door. The best bottled
beers are: Speciale Palm, De Koninck and Duvel, though I didn't hear the last one
offered when I asked first what bottles they had, or when I later asked for a tripel.
Could my fragile Dutch language skills be to blame? (Though she could have spoken
some English to me - it happens so often that it makes little impression on my memory.)

Wieckse Witte seemed my best bet, at the time. No temperature under 220º C can
excuse such a stupid mistake. I'm not sure that I should be telling you this, if I
want to cling onto my dreams of one day being taken seriously for this writing stuff.
(I mean get paid real money - accepted by pubs, off-licences and train stations across
the world - for once. Look, since a tragic double ankle injury finally killed my hopes
of playing professional football, I'm down to my last handful of unrealistic ambitions.
I'm not prepared to relinquish my hopes of multi-million euro royalty cheques just
yet.) I should have known better. I've always thought it was shit, even when it was
brewed (as the name sort of still implies, in Dutch, a language in which a surprising
number of the target consumers are competent) in Wyck, on the wrong side of the river
(though it would be the right one, if train travel were included in your plans) in
Maastricht.

Too busy frying myself, I didn't notice if they still do a full cooked breakfast.
Best ask them yourselves.

One
of the advantages of living in Amsterdam (OK, there are others, but this
is a family publication) is that I can regularly update this guide. Reading
back my description of Loosje, I understood where my duty lay. To the centre,
tramdriver, and don't spare the electrodes.

Loosje is the perfect antidote to depression. Who could feel miserable here?
They do everything the wrong way around: improve the beer selection and
leave the stunning interior alone. Not a specialist beer café by
any strectch of the imagination, yet when I visited they had three draught
beers I could happily have drunk all day. I'm a notoriously fussy git, so
perhaps such occasions are more frequent in your life.

The winning formula (and judging by: 1. large number of customers: 2. opinions
of my friends; 2. listing in everyone's Amsterdam guides, that's beyond
doubt) gives me a warmer feeling in my loins than a toileting accident.
Beautiful pub, reasonable prices, good atmosphere, steadily improving the
beer range. No, I'm sleeping, aren't I? This is all just some horribly tantalising
dream. (Like the one where I was pubcrawling around Newark in1941.)

One of the advantages of being occupationtally
challenged (OK, there are others, but potential employers have been known
to use search engines) is that I can do my research during working hours.
If you've been looking carefully, perhaps you've spotted all the newspaper
reading going on in my photos. Yup, my days are free.

Here we have a style seldom seen in Holland.
Magnificent tilework covers the walls, bar, floor and just about every other
surface, except for the ceiling. One wall has a 3-metre wide depiction of
the old ZHB (Zuid Hollandsche Bierbrouwerij) brewery in Den Haag. Other
bits portray the pub in the 17th century and peasants hanging around some
polder. There are even old hard-coded adverts, for products which surely
no longer exist. That's what I call a successful advertising campaign: one
that goes on forty or fifty years after manufacture has ceased.

Behind the main room, through a pretty etched glass door, is a billiard room which
also has many tiles, albeit in a somewhat less flamboyant style.

The snacks are very good value. The tortilla looks very tempting.

The draught beer selection is pretty varied, though the choice of bottled
beers is predictable. Worth coming to for the La Chouffe alone.

Formerly the brewpub Maximiliaan,
which went bankrupt after about 10 years in business. De Bekeerde Suster
is now owned and run by De Beiaard
Groep, who have another cafe in Amsterdam
on the Spui. The beer range has been expanded from the Maximiliaan, when
the pub only sold half a dozen or so varieties, all except the pils being
brewed on the premises. After a worrying delay, when it operated solely
as a specialist beer cafe, the brewery is back in regular operation. (If
you want to catch them in the act, their website reveals they usually brew
on Wednesday or Thursday.)

De
Beiaard had already been getting a couple of house beers contract brewed
for their pubs, most notably the witbier Witte Ros and the seasonal Bock
Ros. One can assume that the intention is to take the production of
these beers in-house. Whether this has occurred yet with the Witte Ros is
not clear. Blonde Ros definitely is brewed on the premises, as they say
will be the Bock Ros in autumn.

Amsterdam's first (and so far only) brewpub, it opened in 1992. It's situated
in a group of historic buildings close to the Waag, a gothic pile in the
middle of Nieuwe Markt that was once a gatehouse in the city wall. I had
read that the bar area had been altered but, unless senility is closer than
I had thought, that's not true. All I could spot in the way of change was
an increase in the Grolsch adverts, sorry, memorabilia, which stay just
the right side of irritating.

One of the reasons I sometimes tire of visiting new homebrew pubs, is the
thought of the hours it might cost finding some new way of combining the
words vessel, copper and gleaming without repeating myself. I'm short of
time today, so you'll have to use your imagination. It's probably my mind
playing tricks on me, but I thought the brewing kit was looking a bit sheepish,
there in the corner. Had I been lead in blindfold (which, I admit, was unlikely),
I might have feared that my eyesight was slipping away. Hopefully, someone
had just knocked against the dimmer. They must have a dimmer . . . You must
be able to get it brighter than this.

The custom of using the bits that brew the beer as decorative features,
doesn't seem to mean that we ever get to see it used. In Maximiliaan I had
seen real live brewing not once, but several times. Seeing all that gear
lying around unused was saddening. I'm pleased it's been resuscitated.

I trust that an established operator like Beiaard
has a clear idea of how to solve the problem that sank the old owners -
who do you run such an enormous place at a profit? Maximiliaan never did
work out how to attract enough customers to cover their high fixed costs.
Being part of a chain should assure the brewery of a certain steady trade.
When Witte Ros really is moved here, then I'll believe the intention is
to brew seriously. Imagining the expanses of space in the function rooms,
I wonder how anyone can fill them on a regular basis.

Though I'm too much of a respectable family man to talk about
it very much, I'm aware that some visitors to Amsterdam intend consuming
more than just beer. After the sad closure of De Hoogte, I realised that
my guide had lost it's primary "smoking café". I haven't
ever mentioned it until now, but I feel I owe you at least one such bar.
A replacement was easy to find. Tapvreugd, just down the street, was the
obvious candidate.

In various guides, I've read claims that Café Whatsit or Bar Thingummy
is the only place in Amsterdam where you can enjoy a decent beer with your
space cigarette. Total crap. Truth be told, I could fill several web pages
and still have enough pubs left over for a short book. I'll let you in on
a secret, as long as you promise not to tell anyone; there are at least
three other bars in this guide, where, under certain circumstances, it's
also allowed. I would tell you which ones, but:

I don't want my favourite pubs filled with stoned zombies

I'm not daft enough to urinate on my fried potato snacks by irritating the landlords
of pubs I use myself

you should be able to work it out for yourself, if you're that keen

Warning: the combination of drinking and smoking can
affect your ability to remain conscious. I take no responsibility for
anyone who wakes in the gutter with an embarrassing wet patch on their
trousers.

Even before I learnt of Hoogte's demise, I had been toying with the idea of including
Tapvreugd. Looking at the beer choice - just Heineken on draught and perhaps 20 bottled
beers - you may well wonder why. Well, this is my guide and I can do what the hell
I like. It's in because I say so.

One aspect of Tapvreugd does merit your attention: the prices. When I saw 2.30 euros
chalked next to Duvel on the blackboard, my first reaction was that it must be a mistake.
It isn't. This - and Ter Brugge - are the only pubs I know still charging the old
guilder prices converted to euros. It's great value for this part of town, where more
backpackers and teenage hippies than you can shake a stick at (and who doesn't dream
of doing just that?) can be seen with their faces pressed against headshop windows.

Putting to one side the financial aspects, we have an uncomplicated brown pub (somewhere
between chocolate and tar in its degree) like dozens of others in Amsterdam. Narrow,
but deep, a long bar counter occupies most of one side. At the front, barstools -
clumped around the bar and small, high tables bolted to the walls - form the only
seating option. You'll have to penetrate the darkest regions of the interior, should
you wish to sit on a proper chair at a normal-height table. The walls are hung with
enough beer-related artifacts to shame some professional beer bars. God knows where
the rest of the clutter comes from or why it's there. Best not disturb any of it,
in case it's load-bearing.

The name Wijnand Fockink is guaranteed to provoke raised eyebrows,
at the very least, amongst English-speakers. On this occasion, I can manage
to refrain myself from cracking any puerile jokes, happy to leave you that
innocent pleasure for yourselves. I expect that you'll have plenty of time
for thinking them up while you're searching for the pub. You aren't likely
to wander past accidentally, it being hidden away down alley into which
few would venture. The easiest way to find it is to look for the Krasnapolsky
hotel on Dam Square. Pijlsteeg runs down its right hand side.

Fockink
was founded in 1689, originally functioning as the tasting room of the distillery
behind it. It's quite easy to imagine that not much has been done in the way of home
improvements since. (I know the feeling: you keep promising that you'll put that shelf
up next week and, before you know it, three centuries have gone by.) Behind the bar
hugely bending green shelves bear old bottles whose faded painted labels can still
just about be deciphered. You could be forgiven for thinking that you had wandered
into an old chemists. If you look more closely, you'll see that the labels say "Oranje
Bitter" or "Oude Jenever" not "Arsenic" or "Laudanum".

The beer taps are stuck in a corner in a strange glassed in booth, which resembles
a little the 'Beichtstuhl' to be found in certain Rhineland pub breweries. There are
some interesting old newspaper cuttings and postcards illustrating the traditional
technique of avoiding spilling any genever from a glass filled right to the brim:
bending over and taking the first slurp before picking it up.

Long after the closure of the original, a new distillery was established
in the 1990's. It was the only pub-distillery I knew. Sadly, their house-distilled
genevers are gone. Some misunderstanding with the revenue men provoked the
distillery's closure. However, they do still have their own genevers and
liqeurs, now distiulled elsewhere.The fruit genevers, unsweetened and made
from whole fruit, are particularly tasty and at only 21% alcohol not too
bad for the brain cells.

The staff are friendly and seem only too pleased to talk about the traditional
method of producing genever. Like malt whisky it gains smoothness and colour
from years of maturation in small oak vats. Sadly, few are still made this
way. Having tasted some of the commercial varieties, it doesn't surprise
me. More like an industrial cleaning product than a drink to savour. In
my ignorance, I thought this was all Holland's national tipple had to offer.
Something they've been patient enough to leave in oak for 5 years (like
WF superior) is well worth your trouble. Not just for binge-drinking or
paint-stripping. (If I've stirred your interest, Cafe
Belgique sells the excellent 5 and 8 year old Villiers from Belgium,
Ooievaar stocks a decent oude genever from the Amsterdam
distillery of the same name.)

Not content with having their own spirits, they also sell one of Belgium's most obscure
beers, De Rijk Special, which is vaguely in the same style as Palm or De Koninck.
It comes from a small, family-run brewery, which only produces 6,000 hl per year.
Their beer is extremely rare in Belgium and totally unknown in Holland. How they come
to have it on draught here is a mystery. Unfortunately, having said all of that, it
isn't such a great beer. But give it a try yourself and see what you think.

It may not have escaped your notice that "bier" is the Dutch word
for beer. And, yes, that is what it means in the name "Scharrebier".
It's the Dutch equivalent (or was in the 17th century) of English "Small
Beer" or "Table Beer", that is a low-alcohol beer made from
a second or third mashing.

If you think "Small Beer" is a pretty strange thing to call a
pub, I would have to agree with you. The explanation lies in the bridge
direcly opposite, named Scharrebiersluis. They supposedly sold Scharrebier
from the canalside at some point.

I like to think that I know Amsterdam pretty well, but this area to the
east of the Red Light District is new territory for me. A bit of a walk
from Centraal Station (the closest point most trams get), but I think it's
well worth it. On the way you'll see some fine 17th century houses and get
a close-up look at the Scheepvaarthuis,
a faintly Gothic structure that was the first great Amsterdamse School building.

You're probably thinking "this is all very interesting, but when is
he going to tell us something about the bloody pub?". OK. But don't
be disappointed if I fall back on my usual adjectives. Here's a selection
- brown, traditional, worn, wooden, cosy, friendly, local. They all apply.
Technology is a wonderful thing. Rather than strain my poor old brain, I'll
let the pictures do the talking for me.

Now that we're on the subject of beer, let me say a few words in praise
of Scharrebier. The beer count may not be that high, but you can't complain
about the quality. Rochefort 10 and Schneider Weisse aren't seen much outside
specialist beer cafés. It's hard to spoil my day when, after ordering
my trappist, back comes the question "From the fridge or from the shelf?"

I just hope that my photos can do it justice because Scharrebier is a gem
of a pub. It's the sort of place where, when it starts raining you're glad
of the excuse to stay a little longer. If you want to experience a real,
unspoilt, locals pub - look no further.

Engelbewaarder
used to be a beer café, so I remember reading. Well, it isn't any
more. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it isn't worth visiting. Just don't
expect a beer pub, OK?

I was truly gob-smacked when I realised why I had bever noticed this pub
before: I had never walked down this bit of th canal before. It sounds crap
doesn't it? "Not walked along this bit of city centre street, ha ha
ha. How dare you report on Amsterdam, sir." It's a lot harder than
you might imagine, tramping every single yard of pavement in this city.
You try it.

I've got lost again. Excuse me. Short attention span. Must go to pub ...
It's a pleasant long brown pub with mustard yellow panelling. Sounds vile,
doesn't it? Couldn't be further from the truth. The enamel gas stove and
tunnel-like nature remind me of Lucas's old pad in De Pijp. (I realise this
will only make sense to 5 or 6 of my readers, but I think that I owe it
to them.) Except clean. And with 6 draught beers. Lucas's place didn't feature
either.

This part of town (Red Light disrict fringes) isn't over-blessed with pubs
where you're safe from impromptu tattoing. Engelbewaarder is cosy, friendly
and without psychos. What more could you ask for? I know, a good beer selection.
There isn't anything to set your juices flowing, but there are some of the
more standard drinkable items.

Sometimes
I feel this guide is becoming an extended mea culpa for my lack of
adventure. Even after being dragged along to Scharrebier, I still hadn't
noticed Druif. Sit outside Scharrebier and you'll realise the full extent
of my idiocy.

Druif is Heineken's house contender for the Oldest Pub in Amsterdam. The
one huge advantage it has over its competitors is the realtively remote
location. Obviously, it's in a part of town built in the 17th century, but
one so difficult to reach by public transport that it could just as well
be in Haarlem. No tourist hordes inside, just a hardcore of locals.

Somewhere in the distant past Druif was a distillery. Though the only reminders
of this are "Likeurstokerij" sign under the gable and the spirit
barrels behind the bar.

Spend some time inside and, as you try to make some sense of the layers
of junk, you'll start wondering if the owners have ever thrown anything
away. From the ceiling hang 5 or 6 times as many lights fittings as are
- or could be - in use.

The furniture is characterful to the point of delapidation. Gernerations
of drinkers have worn away the slightest trace of varnish. I guess the next
stop will be the bonfire. As in some other venerable ex-distilleries, there
is a weird vertical glass and brass spirit dispenser on the bar.

I did give serious thought to adding Druif to my "secret list".
But, with Scharrebier already covered in this page, how could I expect Druif
to go unnoticed? Only an idiot like me could fail to spot it.